


In the Looking Glass

by LelithSugar



Series: Follow the White Rabbit [3]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: #hoppyhartwin, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Clothing, Clothing Kink, Corsetry, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fishnets, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Sex, Smut, hartwin bunny week, that bunny!AU, that's about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 14:32:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18551695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Standalone/Oneshot from the Bunnywaiter!Eggsy/Tailor!Harry AU.Eggsy gets home late from a hard night's work; Harry helps him undress and unwind before bed. That's it. Just smut.





	In the Looking Glass

**Author's Note:**

> On this, the last day of #hoppyhartwin... have some more filth. With many thanks to those who set the challenge and all who have taken part with beautiful art and fics!

In the Looking Glass

 

Harry is thrown from his doze by the landing lights, followed by the main lights in the bedroom blazing to life. He tries not to grouse. Eggsy runs himself ragged at work and doesn’t need to add fumbling around in the dark when he gets home to his chores and really Harry hadn’t meant to be asleep to disturb: it’s Saturday night, he doesn’t need to be up at any particular time in the morning so he can afford to welcome Eggsy home from his shift. 

“Good evening darling.” It’s got to be gone three in the morning, but nonetheless. “How was work?”

By way of an answer, Eggsy groans and slaps a loosely shuffled stack of notes on the dressing table. The purple tone to the pile indicates they’re mostly twenties, and the heaviness In Eggsys steps suggests he earned every penny, run ragged from open to close fawning over the every whim of his patrons. 

Harry was one of them once. 

Eggsy fishes a few more crumpled notes out from somewhere, flings off his hoodie and drops his jogging bottoms, and given what a busy night he’s obviously had it shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s opted to just cover up and come home in his Bunny uniform, but it’s a thrill nonetheless. 

He’s in the corset today: rust coloured velvet cinched at the waist and laced fairly tightly to mid pectoral; silky black briefs with the white puff of a tail sewn on the back; lace topped fishnet stockings which Harry might have spotted first if he’d looked down, because Eggsy has left his trainers downstairs. Harry’s not a feet man per se but he does wish he’d been on the ball enough to spot Eggsy’s fishnet-covered toes poking out from underneath his loose trackies. 

Eggsy stops with his feet spread and plants his hands on the dresser. 

“Undo me, would you babes?”

And well, If that’s not worth hauling one’s middle-aged arse out of bed at three in the morning for, what is? 

Once up - thoroughly roused indeed - Harry can’t resist slotting up behind him and putting his mouth to the nape of Eggsy’s neck whilst he undoes the bow and wriggles his hand into the nylon cord to work the centre of the lacing loose. Eggsy nuzzles back into him, open mouth half kissing at Harry’s temple as he breathes out the relief of being freed from steel boning after a long night. But it’s not just that: there’s a warmth there; an invitation. 

They don’t usually fuck when Eggsy gets home… the poor thing is tired, feet hurting, back aching from maintaining the exaggerated posture the corset enforces, but tonight he’s not squirming away or mumbling about needing a shower. And he does need a shower: his skin bared as Harry pulls the lacings open enough that he can reach around and pop the clasps on the front of the corset is damp with sweat; he smells musky and smoky and just a little bit of stale beer, like he’s spilt something, and it’s so quintessentially _Jessica’s_ that for a moment Harry’s transported back. He’s at his table, tucked into an alcove, watching the clever switch of Eggsys hips move that little white tail side to side, hypnotised, hopeless in the resignation that he’d never know what that arse felt like, tasted like; would never really get to touch the boy the way he dreamed about, and that was just something he accepted with his patronage.

Funny, how things turn out sometimes. 

Eggsy doesn’t move once the corset’s off and folded into a loose concertina on the dresser, and even if it weren’t for his reflection in the dressing table mirror Harry could tell from his posture that he’s enjoying the physical attention. But Eggsy’s eyes are softly closed, his mouth a relaxed pout like he might be about to whisper something and it’s obviously not going to be for Harry to stop. His collarbones shimmer in the light - partly sweat but he’s picked up some glitter from somewhere - and there’s a red blotch on the side of his neck Harry worries for a moment is a bitemark, but it’s just lipstick, so he thumbs it away. 

“Popular, this evening?”

“Yeah. Double hen party.” Eggsy finds another tenner tucked in the waist of his pants. “I mean -  obviously the brides were only interested in each other, cute as fuck, but the rest of ‘em were a proper handful. I’m fucking done in.”

“And yet you come home to me.” It’s always the wonder. His pick of the boys and the girls, four nights a week, and yet anything more than a teasing peck is exclusive to Harry. Harry, who still frequents  _ Jessica’s  _  bar on alternate Fridays to watch the boy he had pined after winning over a room, tray of cocktails balanced aloft on one hand. Harry, who at twice Eggsy’s age may look odd to some by his side but looks exactly right over his shoulder in the mirror, shirtless self poised at Eggsy’s sculpted back as Eggsy reaches up and behind to pull him by the back of the neck for a kiss.

“Yeah. You’re alright. You'll do”

The briefest touch of saccharine-sweet tongue - a hell of a shift if he’s resorted to RedBull - is enough at that angle, and Harry retreats by kissing back along the line of Eggsy’s jaw to his ear, and down the back of his neck as he gently presses Eggsy forward again. 

Harry can read the hard work on Eggsy’s body when he comes home like this. For someone so naturally beautiful - in Harry’s unbiased eyes - a great deal of effort goes into maintaining the bunny image and that stands out all the more vividly when it’s stripped away: the corset remains as  vertical red stripes pressed into the smooth cream of his skin; white welts where the bones pressed, dotted with beauty spots and twin pink pinches at the sides where he has his co-bunnies draw the laces extra tight to emphasise the narrow cut of his waist. Out of the corset it’s more naturally shown off by contrast to the muscular breadth of his shoulders and moves with the exaggerated depth of his breathing, like it’s a pleasure itself, just because he can. 

Harry pushes Eggsy down further with a hand in that revered hollow between his shoulder blades and Kisses a line down the knobs of his spine, down, along the silk stretched over the crack of his arse… he’ll come back to that, but he’s working his way down to start from the ground up. Given that the centre point runs out at his tailbone  - and perhaps a little in consideration of his own back - Harry stops there to kneel himself down a pace behind the gap between Eggsy’s feet. 

He taps him on the leg so he’ll pick his foot up and starts by kneading at the ball of Eggsy’s foot, the joints of his toes, the fishnet grating against his fingertips as he works them into the tense ligaments of Eggsy’s feet and tries to rub some of that ache loose. Letting him sit down would serve him better but wouldn’t turn either of them on nearly so much; he can wait a little longer for that. Soon he can sleep satiated, comfortable, and a good long lie in will do him no harm at all, he sleeps like a teenager still and Harry can’t help but be tempted by that, but want to make him work for it.

Eggsy _‘m_ _ mm’s _ softly, gives an earnestly grateful sigh and circles his toes to rotate his ankle, shifting his weight without prompting to give Harry his other foot once he’s finished, and seeming to stand all the easier for it. Harry repeats the treatment, in no particular hurry, until Eggsy is content to stand flat again and another little sigh catches in the back of his throat.

Harry takes his time dragging his fingertips over the bones of Eggsy’s ankle and up the inside of his leg to where the elasticated lace band of the stocking top squeezes the flesh of his thigh -  the inside stickily rubberised for grip - and rolls it down, soothing the angry indented pattern underneath with a kiss. So close to the groin that musky smell is hotter, the barest touch of exciting sourness that tells him Eggsy is aroused now to the point of leaking. 

But Harry can’t leave a job half done, so he tends to Eggsy’s other stocking: gently rolling it from where the elastic grips just below the curve of his arse and still hearing him hiss. They have to be tight to stay up -  Harry has learned this - and moreso when you’re going to use them to hold the money spent on you because of how good you look in them, because of the way the top band of lace accentuates the lower curve of your gorgeous backside, left bare by the skim of your ridiculous silly black pants…. 

Harry leaves those  on, hooks them with his left thumb and pulls them aside to replace their delicate touch with that of his mouth. 

Eggsy must be anticipating it,  and he shudders out a hum of satisfaction when Harry presses a kiss to that pucker and goes to deepen it almost immediately with the steady press of his tongue.

“God, ohh...fuckin’ hell.” It’d be hard to tell if Eggsy we’re enjoying or complaining, if it weren’t for the way he locks his stance.  “I’m all rank…” 

Harry pays that never mind - there’s nothing wrong with the taste of sweat and he’s otherwise clean - and goes in. The heat of him is pleasantly suffocating and Harry’s tongue catches the seam of the satin briefs when he laps too eagerly, not that Eggsy can feel any difference if his first frustrated little moans are anything to go by, but of course Harry wants more.

“Knee up, darling.” 

Eggsy's knee on the dresser spreads him open, the easier for Harry to press his face into that cleft and work his tongue deeper into him. Enough to feel Eggsy’s every clench and squeeze at the tip of his tongue,

Harry reaches around to grasp at Eggsy through his uniform briefs; to feel along for the fleshy head and rub his palm over the slippery silk there, until Eggsy is shifting stiltedly between Harry’s mouth and his hand in tiny little thrusts, making an impatient noise in the back of his nose.

So Harry doesn’t linger as long as he otherwise might. Earlier in an evening he might tease, might ask if he wants it but Eggsy obviously just wants fucking and putting to bed because he practically throws back the lube, knocking his pencil pot of makeup oddments flying in that haste to move them along. Harry pours out a handful and wets his fingers liberally; he strokes down the centre of Eggsy’s backside, rubs at him for just long enough to make him want it and  then sinks two fingers in, to the second knuckle first and then  _ in  _ until the rest of his hand stops him, until the little proud bulge is just below his fingertips so that when he bends his fingers Eggsy huffs out a noise like he’s been punched.

“Yeah, please…  _ yeah _ .” Nobody’s asking but Eggsy answers with what he wants so softly. 

It’s easy to work him, then, until he’s moaning softly on his exhales and rocking  his hips properly back into the motion; until the grip around Harry’s fingers is pliable enough that he’s comfortable slipping in the third finger, feeling out room for his cock, making Eggsy whine when he spreads them out with one pushing firmly against his prostate. 

“Ready?”

The answer’s lost, mumbled into the crook of his arm

“Hmm?”

“Yeah, fuck,” it’s thick in the back of his throat, heavy with tiredness and need. “Come on.”

He’s quiet by design: what a way to wake the neighbours at this hour.

Then there is again the matter of those silk briefs, the silly little tail still front and centre and Harry thinks about leaving them on still, just pulled aside but they’re too snug, especially now Eggsy’s erection is straining them so much from the front, pulling them far too tight to give Harry enough room for this. 

Harry gives up and just yanks them down around Eggsy’s knees, and it doesn’t matter that it pulls his legs together because Harry has got the height on him to just push his arse cheeks apart and line up anyway, to push forward slow and steady, paying no mind to Eggsy’s sweet little hum of need as he forges forward at his own pace.

He can’t stop his own blissful little murmur of appreciation… he hadn’t expected this, hadn’t been waiting up with the idea of much more than a goodnight kiss and now he’s soaked in pleasure, nerves sparkling as he adjusts to the maddening squeeze of Eggsy’s body. He’s enough to look at, for God’s sake: it had taken Harry a full month of admiration from the comfort of his own bed to actually fuck him, that last hubris too monumental until Eggsy had sat him  down, pressed him back with a hand in the middle of Eggsy’s chest and taken what he wanted that way. 

It’s always too much. The surge and drag of him around Harry’s cock, boiling hot and slick as the sodden silk around Eggsy's knees, is only rivaled in beautiful filth by the picture he makes in the mirror… what little there is of him shown: the top of his bowed head, the indent the band that holds his bunny ears presses into his hair; his bowed shoulders heaving and then his back drops away. The rest is Harry, too tall to be reflected above the neck but nude body in full view, centre stage as he fucks Eggsy breathless.

Harry reins it in, puts a circle to his hips just to help his rhythm, to keep his pace so he doesn’t just jackhammer away like he wants to… he doesn’t want to. He wants to come to the sight of Eggsy’s orgasm, to the pulsing squeeze of his body and if he’s really lucky a groan of his name or a curse or a prayer… Harry’s vain, yes, but giving this beautiful boy pleasure is the best thing he knows how to do. He stretches around to run a hand down the sweat-slick, quivering joy that is Eggsy’s tense stomach and get a grip on his cock. 

Harry’s strokes take in only the very head of Eggsy’s prick and they’re neither pretty nor elegant but they’re just how he likes it and the way Eggsy responds is beautiful: groaning and collapsing forward, giving himself over for Harry to give pleasure to; to take pleasure from and Harry’s earning it, feet planted, hips bouncing off Eggsy’s arse with every thrust. The pleasure in him brings a sharp sweat to his face, his back, but he forces himself to take the waves without letting them crest, fighting the blissful tide until Eggsy tenses up around him. A flash of movement: Eggsy half-blindly grasping at the dresser, grabbing a wad of tissues from the box to come into, and that does it for Harry so decisively that it’s a close call, in the end. Harry’s already coming, blistering ecstacy bursting through him out of control when he hears the groan that clips off into panting and feels his hand slipping all the easier over Eggsy’s skin, his knuckles brushing against Eggsy’s hand where he’s trying to keep from making a mess on the carpet. 

Dazed, heavenly, Harry withdraws and stumbles back, ignoring the sudden offputting reflection of his pink and pleasure-slack face for the view of where Eggsy lies slumped on the dresser, silk panties around his buckled knees and a trickle of Harry’s semen just pulsing from him when he shudders and clenches.

Truly, moving him is a travesty.

“You can’t stay there all night.” 

“Can’t move. Knees don’t work.” Harry can well believe it, the position he’s ended up in, so he scoops Eggsy around the waist and against his body. There’s not far enough to go to lift him, but he uses his foot to wriggle the pants down and off his feet as he stumbles along towards their bed.  “Shower,” Eggsy mumbles, something like dejectedly. 

“Shower in the morning. I’m changing the sheets anyway.”

“‘Sgusting…” murmurs Eggsy, but makes no further complaint as Harry tumbles him out of his arms and onto the bed. There he sprawls as he lays, naked as the day, arms flung out for Harry to cuddle into the crook of if he’s true to form. He may be asleep before he’s even fully settled.  He’s still got the barest trace of eyeliner on and there are still studded triangular imprints on the smooth skin of his belly from the clasps of his corset, and Harry presses a kiss to each one… bottom to top, lest anybody start getting any ideas about a second round.

Well, it  _ is _ gone three o’clock in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> All done, thank you for reading.
> 
> Please do leave me anything you can, I thrive off feedback like most fanfic authors. You can also send me a req (I will approve it) on twitter: @agentsnakebite or find me on tumblr now I'm unbanned: @randomactsofviolence


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